A STORY ABOUT YOU
by Darren Domsky
Copyright 2012 Darren Domsky
Smashwords Edition
Cover Artwork by Katherine Domsky
SMASHWORDS EDITION, LICENSE NOTES:
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This story is a story about you, the person reading this story right this second. You may find this implausible and silly, but please do your best to get over this, because it's actually true. This story is about you.
This story is about you, but the you of many, many years from now. You are very old, and finally nearing your end. You are laying on a hospital bed, with a respirator over your mouth and nose and with various tubes and monitors attached to you, and you are in the later throes of whatever it is that is finally going to kill you. If you try to leave the hospital, you know that you will die somewhere in the hallway. You are laying on your deathbed, and you know it. With your room all to yourself, you sit and reflect.
A man comes in, and you can tell he must be one of the hospital do-gooders. A social worker? A chaplain? A volunteer visitor? You aren't sure. There he goes, matching the name on your chart to the name on his clipboard, and there he smiles as he sees that he's found the right room. As he pulls up a chair, you wonder why the do-gooders never wonder if they are welcome to pull up a chair. You would ask him this, but your respirator makes talking impossible.
When he starts talking, he takes you completely off guard. You expected something cheery and canned, but you get this:
"I wonder: when I first walked in the room, what were you thinking about, right at that moment? You were regretting something, weren't you. Wow, what an interesting face you had. Deathbed regrets, eh? Aren't they nasty?"
Then he gets more serious, and curious.
"I wonder what it was you were regretting. I wonder if I can guess."
He stares into your eyes, searching for clues.
"Was it about that special someone, from way back when? What was it, I wonder. Did you never ask them on a date? Did you never even talk to them? Did you keep trying and trying to take that big, brave step, but never succeed? Did you even sometimes have that perfect excuse to go for it? Did you bump into them somewhere? Did you get partnered together for something? Did you spend an entire semester sitting right beside them in school? And you still didn't ask them out? Did you even ask them anything?"
"Or was it about the next stage. Did you never pop the question? Or, did they keep popping it, but you kept saying no? Either way, did you let that special someone slip away, because they wanted to get more serious, and you thought you didn't? What an awful thing that would be to think back on. Did they eventually go and marry someone else instead? Do you still know them? Do you still bump into them, and make excuses to run away again? The worst thing is, you saw all of this coming, didn't you. You knew you should marry them. You knew you shouldn't let them get away. Goodness. Did you spend the rest of your life living a mistake?"
"Maybe it was kids. Did you never have children? Did you keep putting it off, until it was too late? Or, did you keep telling yourself that you didn't really want any, and that you'd be happier without them. Wow, I bet that could really start to haunt a person. Do you keep wondering what they would look like now? Do you wonder what it would be like having them visit you here in the hospital? Would they be bickering in the waiting room right now, fighting about some same old thing, or maybe bickering just for the sake of bickering? Would you be smiling, wondering if they would ever give you a moment's peace? Wow, ... what a terrible silence to have to listen to instead."
"Or, did you not want kids, but you had them anyway? Did you have too many? What were you thinking! Who did you do that for? Did you waste away all your best years, begging for babysitters and putting off diaper changes? Would you tell people "I would never wish away my kids...", but then let your heartbreak belie the rest of your sentence? Did anyone ever really know? I wonder. When I walked in, did I catch you thinking back on all the things you gave up your chance to do?"
He pauses to think.
"You didn't have a big falling out with them, did you? A big fight? A rift that wouldn't end? Did you never call and say you were sorry? Did years go by, and all you ever had to do was make one lousy phone call and spit out one lousy apology? How long ago was that? And now, is it too late? Do you not even know their current number? Do you not even know the area code? 'I'm sorry. It was my fault. Let's not fight anymore. I miss you, kid.' Did you never say it, and now there are no more chances to?"
He is struck by the next thought, and looks to the doorway as he soaks it in.
"Goodness. Are they not here to visit because they don't even know you're here?"
He searches your eyes again.
"Oh no. It wasn't your parents, was it? Was that the big falling out? Was that the phone call you kept on not making, and the sorry you kept withholding? Did you let that curtain of silence rise up? Did you let yourself pretend that it matters so much who was right?"
"Isn't it awful, how parents sometimes up and die without warning? You assume you still have lots of time. You assume you have forever. And then, in the blink of an eye, they're gone. They're gone, and now you have forever to think about what you never told them. Was that what you were thinking about, when I first walked in?"
"Maybe it wasn't about apologies. Maybe it wasn't even about family. Tell me: did you never express your gratitudes? All of those people who helped you along your way, with guidance, love, and encouragement--did you never tell them how deeply you appreciated them? Did you never tell your mentors how glad you were to have them? Did you never let your role-models know what wonderful role-models they were? Did you have friends that mattered to you more than air, but that you expressed just as little appreciation for? No phone call, even? No letter? Did you even bother to decide what you would have said, if ever you had gotten up the nerve? 'Hey. You inspired me. You opened my eyes. You were there for me. You made me want to become a better person. You made me want to become more like you. I am so, so glad to have had you in my life. I should have told you so. I should have told you to death. But now, here I am: too old, and too late.'"
"Did you never travel? Did you never go and see the world, like you always said you would? Did you even buy the backpack, but never use it? Did you even buy the motorhome, but mostly leave it parked? Were your dreams so big that you could barely keep from smiling during your passport photo? Did you even get your passport photo? It's awful, isn't it? You spend your whole life looking forward to all the traveling you are going to do, and at the end of it all you realize that now you can't even leave your hospital room."
"Did you never go to college? Did you go, but drop out? Did you tell yourself things about pieces of paper or wasted tuition, but only half believe them? Did you go to the wrong college? Did you get the wrong degree? Did you never go to grad school? Did you go to the wrong kind? Whose life were you living, anyway? Did you take the safe road? Did you trade in your dreams, for boredom and financial security and Mom or Dad's selectively approving smile? Did you live your parents' dream? Your spouse's? Some random one, that you somehow just got stuck with? Now and then, would you bump into a reminder of your true passion, but pretend not to notice? Did you avoid watching certain movies, without ever fully admitting to yourself why? Did you put telltale pictures up on your wall, on condition that you never think too much about what they implied? Did you even start to tell yourself the big lie: that now it's too late? Did you even keep changing it? Maybe it wasn't always too late, but now it really is? It's agonizing, isn't it, to hold onto a lie for so long and still never really believe it."
"Did you never really go for it? Did you never write your novel? Did you never write even one song? Did you chicken out of the big audition, or the big try-outs? Did you never apply for that dream school or that dream job, or lick the stamp on that impossible query letter? Did you stand and stare at that mountain of hats, and never throw yours in too? Did you tell yourself that you'd obviously never make it anyway, so why bother? Oh, those wretched might-have-beens. You think they'll be ok. You think you might even enjoy them, as things to pleasantly ponder. But all you actually do is grow more and more sick to your stomach. Why didn't I go? Why didn't I try? Why didn't I see?"
"Did you always aim low? Did you tell yourself that aiming low was better, because aiming high and missing would only make you miserable? Did you staple 'good enough' to your scab dreams, and try to forget the ones you'd covered up? Is that why you never went after that big award, or that big promotion? Is that why you avoided that crazy ambitious project, or that crazy new idea? Is that why you never started your own company, or gave up too easily on the one you did? Is that why you stopped loving your work? Is that why you started pretending that you liked the idea of early retirement, even though you never did? And, all the while, did you even keep tabs on those other people--the ones who had the gall to chase after your dreams? Did you spend your whole life like a cat at a window, staring at your birds, and other cats?"
The man stops talking, and visibly changes gears. He suddenly seems reluctant to talk.
"I'm very sorry. I've been acting as though I work here at the hospital, but I don't. I'm here to tell you that in two minutes, we're putting you back. We're going to rewind reality, and take you back to a time when you were much, much younger, with most of your big regrets still ahead of you. We're taking you back to give you a second chance, a chance to do things right this time--the way that you always knew you should have done them in the first place. Everything will be the way it was, and you will live the rest of your life all over again, making all fresh choices. So you know, this will be your only second chance to do things right. There will be no third."
He looks deep into your eyes, as if to memorize them.
"I've got to tell you, it's a strange thing to do, to talk to someone about all their deathbed regrets, just to have them forget the entire conversation two minutes later. So this is what is also going to happen. Right after we rewind reality, and put you back as your much younger self, you are going to have a carefully orchestrated, unsettling experience."
"You are going to read the story of what just happened to you."
And you are going to know.